“He’s returned home to his family in Yorkshire. His father isn’t plump in the pocket, and so I volunteered to deal with the problem.”
“Shall you wear the navy wool coat with the velvet collar, sir? It complements the gold waistcoat,” Hicks inquired, the coat over his arm.
“Perfect choice, Hicks. Well done.” Charlie stripped off his coat. “I suppose I should shave.” He ran a hand over his relatively smooth chin.
“No time for that.” Jason straddled the ribbon-back wooden chair. He leaned his arm on the top, watching his brother. He wondered what lay behind this latest incident that Charlie didn’t wish to tell him. “Please continue.”
“It’s just that Miss Groton”—Charlie’s voice was muffled as he pulled his shirt up over his head— “has been the recipient of some cruel treatment,” he finished as he reemerged.
“There’s a basin of hot water and soap on the dresser, sir,” Hicks said, producing a towel.
Jason waited impatiently while his brother washed.
“What is this harsh treatment poor Miss Groton has endured?” Jason finally asked, after his frustration rose to the level of hunting for worms to fish in the river as a lad.
“Her father was a shopkeeper in Oxford, but when he died, she had no one to turn to. When the business was foreclosed, she found herself out on the street.” Charlie tossed down the towel and disappeared again as Hicks threw a fresh linen shirt over his head. “She didn’t have so much as a groat in her pocket and had to make her way to her Aunt Bessie in Cheapside, so Basil promised she could spend the night in his digs then get the stage the next day. But it didn’t turn out that way, as you know.”
“It’s about the only thing I do know,” Jason said.
“There’s a chap who runs a gambling house in Oxford. He’s the devil’s spawn! Has an interest in a club here in London as well. He’s demanding Miss Groton pay her father’s gambling debts. She hasn’t the ready to pay him. The fellow’s a sharper, Jas.”
“That’s the extent of it?”
“Not entirely.” Charlie slipped on the gold waistcoat Hicks held out to him. “He’s here in London at his club. If she can’t meet Pomfret’s demands, he’ll have her work for him until it’s paid off.”
“I gather it’s not as a maid?”
“No. That’s just it.” Charlie cleared his throat. “She’s quite pretty. And sweet, Jas, as you’ll see.”
Jason already saw a lot. He rose from the chair and moved it back against the wall. He had formed the deep suspicion that this young lady was not what Charlie believed she was. Still, he didn’t like to see her held to ransom by crooks, if what she said was true. He would certainly need to be on his toes tonight. “I’ll see you in the drawing room in an hour. Don’t be late.”
“But you haven’t said if—”
Jason held up his hand as he stalked out the door.
Chapter Five
In the small attic room, Helen stood with Diana and Toby around Bart’s bed. His arm lay by his side over the coverlet, his face deeply etched with pain. She patted the footman’s hand. Pink scalp showed through his once thick brown hair.
Bart groaned. He opened his eyes but didn’t seem to see her. “Tell Captain Peyton, I’m sorry.”
Shocked, Helen clasped his hand tighter. “What about Lord Peyton, Bart?”
“Couldn’t help. Thought it best… couldn’t tell your mother…” Bart’s unfocussed gaze found her face. “Be careful, Lady Helen, you must find out…” His voice a bare whisper, he closed his eyes.
“I will, Bart. I promise.” Tears flooded her vision. She had no idea what he wanted her to discover, but he had slipped away from her. Was he warning her, or had he been muddled with sickness and pain?
“He’s heavily drugged with an opiate and has not long now. He won’t say anything more, poor fellow,” said the surgeon, a quietly spoken man of some fifty years. “You must leave.” He spread his arms to encompass them and guided them from the room.
“What would Bart have kept from Mama?” Toby asked, his voice wobbling with distress. “And why was he sorry about Lord Peyton?”
“We must ask him,” Diana said, her voice muffled by her handkerchief.
Helen silently agreed. Had her earlier suspicions of Lord Peyton been rooted in fact? “We must tell Mama what Bart said.” They descended the servants’ stairs from the attic. “And Papa will know what to do when he returns.”
“I wish he was here,” Toby said.
Diana sniffed. “Shall we have to wear mourning clothes and cancel my ball?”
